<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Love and Truth by mybrianisfried</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28115094">Love and Truth</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybrianisfried/pseuds/mybrianisfried'>mybrianisfried</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>La Parure | The Necklace - Guy de Maupassant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, i wrote this for school and it's technically fanfiction, my ao3 page is going down the drain already, so why not post it, written from jeanne's pov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 23:13:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>853</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28115094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybrianisfried/pseuds/mybrianisfried</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>After ten years, Jeanne Forestier finds her old friend, Mathilde Loisel. But now, she's changed. Truths will be revealed, and Jeanne will have to make a choice.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mathilde Loisel &amp; Jeanne Forestier</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Love and Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The morning after a large reception at one of her husband’s aquaintances’ homes, Madame Forestier was out on the Champs- Elysees, walking with her young daughter in a pram. The night before had been a big affair, lots of dancing, lots of the sort of thing you partake in at gatherings like those. Lots of things her friend Mathilde loved.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeanne thought of Mathilde often, particularly at parties. Jeanne never really enjoyed that sort of life – parties and gatherings and jewelry, no matter how many she went to or how much she had. But Mathilde adored that life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeanne couldn’t remember the last time she had seen Mathilde, no matter how much she tried to. But even though she could not remember the exact time, she remembered everything else about Mathilde.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her splendid smile and elegant hands. How she always seemed to fit into a room without trying. Her exquisite hazel eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stood there for a moment, with her daughter asleep, reminiscing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Jeanne,” a gruff voice said, surprising her right out of her trance. She turned around and saw the unfamiliar face of a woman.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But… I’m sorry… I don’t know… There’s some mistake,” she stammered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No mistake. I’m Mathilde Loisel.” Jeanne’s first thought was, </span>
  <em>
    <span>This woman must be fooling me.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her second was interrupted. The woman’s features started to become more familiar – older, rougher – but more familiar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes were just the same as ever, hazel and lovely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, how Jeanne wanted to burst into tears right then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But my poor Mathilde, how you’ve changed!” she cried.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I’ve been through some hard times, very hard times,” she said. “And it was all on your account.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“On my account? Whatever do you mean?” she asked, utterly confused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And so Mathilde explained. She explained all about the necklace, the one Jeanne had worn just last night, the one she had worn at every reception because it reminded her of Mathilde.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Jeanne only heard about half of the whole explanation. She could only focus on Mathilde, the harsher, more worn, version of Mathilde.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She said it had been ten years, ten years she’d been working. Had it really been ten years? It almost felt longer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You mean you bought a diamond necklace to replace mine?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. And you never noticed the difference, did you? They were exactly alike.” And Mathilde smiled. It was such a familiar smile, one Jeanne must have seen so many times, but it had an element she hadn’t seen before on her dear Mathilde’s face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pride. Joy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She almost didn’t want to tell her the truth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, my poor Mathilde! But it was only an imitation necklace. It couldn’t have been worth much more than five hundred francs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Where there had been joy before, there was now shock. Her face was still for a moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then she burst into tears.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeanne held her, and she wanted to cry with her. But she just held her, and tried to understand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The clasp… she said it had been broken. Was it just to lend her more time to replace it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Was the necklace she had worn so many times in ten years really </span>
  <em>
    <span>legitimate diamond</span>
  </em>
  <span>? What should she do with it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t think about that now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she chastised herself. She could wonder about it later.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After what seemed an uncountable amount of time – it could have been five minutes, it could have been an hour – Mathilde recollected herself silently and hugged Jeanne goodbye without a word.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeanne took the pram again, calming her now crying baby down, and started to walk back home, thinking about Mathilde and those ten years – those ten lost years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And when Madame Forestier returned home, she found the necklace right where it had been the night before, when she took it off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She didn’t want to gaze upon it now. Not when it had caused so much suffering.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead of looking at the necklace, she remembered the day Mathilde had come over to borrow jewellery ten years ago. Before that, they hadn’t talked in so long. That was so long back then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now it’s only less than ten years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeanne was overjoyed when she saw Mathilde at her door back then. Now she only wanted to cry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Should she sell the necklace? Give it to Mathilde? She could certainly use the money, but would she take it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She always wanted so much. She always wanted so much, and she never got any of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jeanne didn’t know what she would do with the precious diamond necklace, but she didn’t think she would ever wear it again. Not even if it was the only memento of her and Mathilde’s friendship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could remember Mathilde in different ways. As if she’d ever forget.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She opened the box for a split second and then shut it again. She didn’t need to look. She only clasped the box in her hands and thought once again of Mathilde Loisel, with her rough hands and gritty voice, and the young Mathilde Loisel, with her lovely smile and youthful hope.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knew at once what to do with the necklace. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i don't know how you came to find this fic written for a short story written in 1884 but i hope you enjoyed. and yes i did name my english assignment after a mother mother song.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>